


A Maiden No Longer

by vivilove



Series: Naughty Alayne and Lord Commander Snow [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Jonsa Smut Week, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, altered timeline, role-playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-30 13:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12654534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Alayne is a bastard girl but still a maiden.  She is also curious, very curious to try the one thing she has not done with the Lord Commander just yet.  Talking Jon into it though...that could be difficult.





	A Maiden No Longer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jonsa Smut Week on Tumblr. Day #3 prompt- First Time
> 
> Reminders for this series-Jon and Sansa know they are cousins and they are their show ages not book. Sansa fled the Vale so no marriage to Ramsey. And Jon has not been murdered/resurrected in this. There's no mention of WW threat and the timeline has been altered.

_Who are you?_

_I’m Sansa Stark of Winterfell._

_But who are you right now?_

_I’m Alayne Stone, a bastard girl from the Vale. I’m his naughty girl…Naughty Alayne._

_And what are you doing, Naughty Alayne?_

_I’m sucking his cock._

_Whose cock?_ _The Lord Commander’s…or Jon Snow’s?_

_Hush, you’re distracting me._

“ _Unnnn_ …stop, love,” he groans as he tries to move away.

He’s close. She can tell. She can taste it.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” she moans around him instead of letting him escape.

She’s learned that the vibration from her moans push him over the edge. She would moan regardless though. Looking up at his handsome face as he bites down on his lip, the way he stares at her, his gasps, all because of what she’s doing to him…it’s intoxicating. It makes desire coil down there between Alayne’s legs. He’ll relieve that ache for her shortly.

She tightens her grip on his arse and pulls him in deeper, as deep as she can take him without choking. She hollows out her cheeks and sucks. She plays with his balls. She feels them grow tight in her hand.

“ _Aaahhh_!” he cries as he starts to spill.

His hot seed fills her mouth and in her eagerness to lap it up, he breaks away just enough to pull out. The last few spurts land on her face. She’s forced to close her eyes. She doesn’t mind though. She knows his mouth will be agape and that naughty part of him will be excited by his seed all over her face instead of on her teats this time.

“Sansa,” he murmurs when he’s finished and panting.

She feels his thumb sweeping her cheeks. She opens her eyes and he already has a cloth in his hand to wipe her down. His grey eyes are filled with tenderness…Jon’s eyes.

“Alayne,” she says.

“No…Sansa,” he says stubbornly.

He simply won’t play lately. Doesn’t he understand that Sansa Stark shouldn’t be doing these things with her bastard cousin? Does he not see how much simpler things are for a bastard girl like Alayne?

Sansa Stark is the heir of Winterfell and key to the North with Robb, Bran and Rickon dead or lost. She may have to make a match to reclaim her home, some loveless political marriage to free the North of the Boltons and their Lannister overlords.

Alayne is a bastard girl with no such worries. She can suck a man’s cock if it pleases her or let that man sup on her cunny…which pleases her greatly.

But Jon has decided that he loves her, it would seem…loves Sansa, not Alayne.

Not that she doesn’t want his love. She does. Very much. But it does make this so much more complicated.

He lies down next to her on his bed and pulls her into his arms, kissing her brow and whispering sweet endearments.

“I love you, sweet one,” he says. “I would make you my wife if I could.”

“But you can’t,” she argues as the hot, angry tears of frustration fill her eyes.

Him and his damned vows. Take no wives, father no children. Jon Snow is even less free than Sansa Stark in some ways.

“No, I can’t,” he says sadly.

Alayne doesn’t want to be sad. She wants to make merry. She’s a naughty girl that ran away from Lord Baelish and those that would control her. She seeks adventure and new experiences. No one else gets to tell Alayne what to do, no one but the Lord Commander.

He edges down the bed and Alayne rolls her hips in anticipation. She can’t wait to feel his mouth down there. But there is something else they haven’t done yet…something she is quite curious about. She's thought about it a good deal and has decided she's ready.  It's only with him that she would want this.  She thinks the Lord Commander would like it.  But convincing Jon?  Well, that'll likely be a problem. 

“My lord?” she says to get his attention.

He’s determined when he’s this close to having what he wants. He gives her folds a swipe with his tongue and Alayne shudders. She arches her back and her toes curl when his tongue starts playing with her little bud. It’s so good and brings her such a lovely sweet release.

But tonight…she wonders what it would feel like to have more than his tongue or a couple of fingers inside of her. She’s held and sucked his cock enough to realize how much larger it is than his fingers after all. What would it feel like inside of her? She also wonders how much he might like it, too.

“My lord?” she says again and this time she grasps his hair and tries to pull him away.

He makes a disgruntled sound. He shoulders her thighs further apart and drags her legs over his own shoulders. He redoubles his efforts, lapping at her bud determinedly now and reducing Alayne to moans and sighs.

He’s being stubborn again. And she knows what she must say to make him stop.

“Jon…please,” she says.

The please doesn’t matter. It’s his name that causes his head to rise from her cunny. He wipes at his beard which was already growing quite damp and looks at her with concern.

“Do you not want it, love?”

 _Do I want it? Yes…always with you_.

“I do, my lord, but I have a question first and then a request.”

He climbs back up beside her and takes her hand in his own. He looks at her attentively.  He is always respectful that way.  She gazes at those eyes and gets a bit lost in them.  Those grey eyes…Jon’s eyes…are tender and curious.

“What do you want to ask, my love?”

“What’s it like to…”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon bursts from his chambers, startling the men on guard outside his door. They take one look at their lord commander’s face and look away. He fleetingly wonders how much they suspect…or if they suspect at all.

All of them, the brothers of the Nights Watch at Castle Black, have seen him quarrel with Sansa a time or two. They have hidden their smirks well enough when they’ve bickered about this or that in front of others. But normally, his relations with his little cousin outside of his chambers are perfectly cordial. Jon would think that any outsider would consider his attentions to her appropriately solicitous with the correct level of affection given their familial relationship.

Still…there may be a slight chance that they suspect there’s something more to it. Especially when Jon can’t seem to keep from snarling like Ghost at any man who gives Sansa too much of the wrong sort of attention.

_They know it’s only because she’s your family and you mean to protect her._

_No, they know it’s because you consider her your woman…and not just your cousin_.

The night air is chilling after the warmth of his chambers…after the warmth of Sansa’s body next to his and her mouth…

 _Gods, her mouth_ , he thinks as a thrill courses through his blood only to be chased by shame.

His uncle would’ve taken his head if Jon had thought of Sansa this way when they were younger and he had possessed the ability to read minds. But Ned Stark is long dead and Sansa is all that remains of his family for all Jon knows.

He pulls his cloak about his shoulders more firmly and goes to the lift, saying he wishes to check on the men on duty tonight atop the Wall. The winch goes ‘round and round and he finds himself pondering her request as he goes up and up though he’d told her he would not consider it.

 _“I don’t want to lose my maidenhead to some lord I do not love. I want…I want to…with you,”_ she’d said, red in the face and flustered yet determined all the same.

He wanted it, too.  He loved her past all reason.  But he couldn't do that, could he?  Take her maidenhead?  Someday she would marry and what if her husband realized she was no maid?  

He feels a feral hatred coursing through his blood at just the thought of some faceless, future husband taking his rights with her as his bride. 

But he hadn't given voice to those things.  Instead, he'd recited all the reasons it was a terrible idea…and kept his mouth closed about how it was the dearest wish of his heart.

It wasn’t that lying with her, possessing her body or claiming her maidenhood were all he wanted. It was more that he wanted to make her his always. He’d meant what he said earlier. He would wed her if he could.

Cousins wed often enough after all. Their own grandparents had been cousins. But the Starks didn’t make a habit of constantly marrying within their family and therefore they were not touched by the madness that afflicted the heavily inbred Targaryens, who would marry brother to sister and produce a son and a daughter only to have them marry each other when they came of age. No, there would be no shame in a marriage between them as cousins.

But a match with him would hold no political advantage to allow Sansa Stark to reclaim Winterfell. And he was a sworn brother of the Nights Watch and its Lord Commander. He’d be in direct violation of his vows.

_I will take no wives._

_You don’t have to make her your wife for this._

_I will father no children._

_Don’t spill inside of her then. Her womb cannot bear fruit if there’s no seed planted in it._

_I cannot dishonor Sansa this way._

_Not her…Alayne. She’s a naughty girl that doesn’t worry about honor._

Jon has tired of the game. He loves Sansa and she is Sansa no matter how often she refers to herself as Alayne.

But Alayne is a bastard girl and she wants the Lord Commander to lie with her. She wants him to break his vows…but only a little. How many of his brothers have broken their vows in Mole’s Town whenever the opportunity arose? Hadn’t he broken his vows as well all the times he laid with Ygritte beyond the Wall?

 _I’ll not father a bastard_ , he swears to himself again.

 _You wouldn’t do that to her_.

He’d been inexperienced with Ygritte and it would’ve been suspect if he’d expressed concerns about fathering a child on her. But he has more control now. He wouldn’t spill in her. He would only take her maidenhead and show her the pleasures of that final, physical act of love that she's eager to experience.

She told him of the singer that had attempted to rape her the night her aunt had married Lord Baelish. As a bastard girl, even the bastard daughter of Lord Baelish, it was not expected that she would remain a maiden for long. If she’d not made it to the safety of Castle Black, she likely would’ve long since been raped in these dark days.

Jon would be gentle and loving with her. Didn’t any girl, even a bastard girl like Alayne, deserve as much?

And what of Sansa? Even being a lady, the trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, was little protection in truth. If some other man, some ambitious lord eager to stake his claim for Winterfell with a Stark bride, set his sights on her, how safe would she be? And he might be rough. He might claim her maidenhead before he married her even so that she’d have no choice but to marry him. And once she was his wife, he could treat her however brutally he wished and likely no one would say a word.

Jon’s jaw clenches at the thought just as the lift reaches the top of the wall. He steps out though he immediately wishes to go back down, to return to his chambers and his love’s soft body and sweet smiles. He had left her near tears. He wishes to go rectify that, to kiss away those tears and show her how much he loves her…even more than his vows.

The torches flicker atop the Wall and he speaks a word or two with the men he comes across. He gazes out at the blackness beyond. When his eyes turn back to the torches, he pictures her hair glimmering in the firelight.

 _Kissed by fire_.

“Send me back down,” he orders just a few minutes later before he steps back into the lift.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa sits by the fire and sews to distract her tormented thoughts. She’d asked him to lie with her, to take her maidenhead after asking him what it was like to lay with someone.

She never once saw the Lord Commander’s stern face, just Jon’s. Jon’s face mixed with horror and disgust that she would suggest such a thing. Well, perhaps he’d not looked completely horrified or remotely disgusted but it’s what she feels like now after being rejected so firmly. And then he’d left immediately after saying all the reasons why it was wrong, why everything they’d been doing was wrong…and Sansa had wept.

She’s ruined the game now. He won’t want to play anymore. She knows she is wrong to weep for it. Jon still loves Sansa, his little cousin. He will still protect her…until he can find a way to send her off to someone else’s keeping now. But their times as Naughty Alayne and the Lord Commander had been special in their own perverse way. It hurts to accept that it has come to an end.

Just then, the door opens abruptly and Sansa yelps in surprise. A strong gust of wind from the night sweeps inward and the flames from the hearth flicker ominously in complaint. Sansa wonders who has barged in to the Lord Commander’s rooms unannounced…until she turns and sees the Lord Commander standing in the doorway with a queer look on his face.

“Jon?” she questions, for surely he is Jon.

 _He has come to tell me that he will no longer share these chambers with me no doubt. He will move me to other quarters or he will find other quarters of his own_.

But Jon does not respond. He closes and bars the door behind him and hangs his black cloak on its peg.

“Where did you go?” she asks, feeling quite nervous now and wishing to fill the air with small talk…anything to keep him from speaking and sending her away.

“I went to the top of the Wall to think,” he says gruffly.

Sansa nods and wonders what she can say in response. _Was it cold up there?_ enters her brain only for her to scoff at the ridiculousness of such a question. _Of course, it was. It’s_ _always cold up there_.

“I thought about what you’d asked of me… _Alayne_ ,” he says next.

Her eyes widen in shock. She stands from her place by the fire and suddenly her hands need something to do even though she’s dropped her needlework in her initial surprise when the door opened. She twists them into her skirts and gulps.

“You did…my lord?”

“I did,” he says in that rough, raspy tone that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her nipples pebble into tight little buds.

His eyes are dark with lust she notices. Immediately, her small clothes start to feel damp. He paces over to her and stops when he is right before her. They are of a similar height and yet he seems to tower over her in this moment. His powerful chests heaves with his deep breaths. He smells of wood smoke and musk. He means to claim her. She longs to be claimed.

“Are you certain you want this?” he asks when his mouth is only inches from her lips.

“I am,” she whispers hoarsely.

“And what shall I call you tonight? Alayne or Sansa?” he asks.

“Alayne,” she replies automatically though she is not certain now what she prefers. Part of her wishes she’d not said that name.

“Very well… _Alayne_ ,” he says when he's just a whisper away. “Kiss me…and then take off your clothes.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s different than what she’d expected and yet so much better than what she’d feared. He is gentle and good. He calls her Alayne. She calls him my lord. But they are Jon and Sansa when he sinks inside of her at last.

Once she’d removed her clothes, he’d told her to help him out of his leather jerkin, his tunic and breeches. When he was down to his smallclothes, he’d lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed just as he often did when they did other things.

He lays down beside her and pulls the furs over their bodies. He kisses her brow, her cheeks, her lips. His tongue explores her mouth with reverence. Jon’s lips (for he is most assuredly Jon now) kiss her with such passion as though the first step in claiming her was to claim her mouth. They’ve kissed many times before but this is a different sort of kiss. It is a kiss of promise and devotion.

_She is mine and I am hers._

_He is mine and I am his_.

She shivers at the thought and tries to pretend it is nothing. She is Alayne and he is the Lord Commander. They are going to…fuck. Sansa Stark doesn’t care for that vile word but Alayne isn’t supposed to mind it.

But it’s getting hard to keep playing the game. He’s doing his best. He calls her Alayne. But his eyes…they are not stern tonight like the Lord Commander’s sometimes are. They are soft and filled with love.

He kisses his way down her body. His beard and moustache tickle her bare flesh. His lips taste every bit of skin along her throat and down her chest before latching on to a nipple. He flicks it with his tongue and then laves it. He pulls off and blows cool air on it making Alayne wriggle. He grins mischievously at how she squirms. Then, his lips close over her nipple once more and he begins to suckle until she is nearly drunk with desire, so anxious for him to be between her legs.

“Please, my lord,” she begs.

“Patience, Alayne,” he says. “A maiden deserves to be properly prepared before her lord enters her with his cock.”

“I’m already wet,” she claims.

“I’ll make you wetter still,” he promises.

And he does.

She whimpers as he lowers his head to her other nipple and she feels his rough hand sliding up her thigh. His finger traces her folds. She is desperate for his touch. Alayne runs her fingers through his curls that have been freed from their tie. She squeezes his muscular shoulders and rakes her nails along his solid chest. His finger enters her and she nearly cries out in relief.

“My naughty girl is wet,” he rasps. “I must taste her.” His mouth kisses its way down from her wet and reddened nipples until he is between her legs. He groans as he inhales deeply. “So fucking good,” he rumbles. “All mine and so good. Your cunny is so sweet, Alayne.”

His tongue licks her and then enters her. She grips the bedsheets tightly preparing for that peak he’ll bring her this way. It does not take long before she is shaking and crying out his name.

“Jon, Jon, Jon,” she cries, not even realizing her mistake.

“I can feel your peak with my fingers, Alayne,” he says huskily. “You grip me so tight when you peak. I can only imagine what it’ll feel like on my cock.”

“You should find out,” she says breathlessly as she drifts back down from her lofty height.

“Oh, I plan on it,” he says, wiping down his beard that is soaked from her arousal. “Spread your legs wider, Alayne,” he says next.

She does and loves the warmth of his body as he lays atop of her for the first time. He braces most of his weight with his arms and knees but there is just enough weight to make her feel like she’s his. She finds she likes the sensation…at least here with a man she loves.

His hard cock is pressed into her belly as he resumes his fiery kisses from earlier, delving deep into her mouth with his tongue and making her dizzy all over again.

“Are you ready?” he asks at long last.

“Yes.”

“I love you,” he says.

It is not part of their game but she’s about to be a maiden no longer. It seems as well for her to hear those words now and perhaps to say them, too. It's true anyway.

“I love you, too.”

He centers his cock at her folds. She hisses with anticipation when he glides the head of it along the wetness there. He tells her that covering the tip will make it easier for him to slide inside her.

His eyes return to her face as he pushes slowly forward. It stretches at first. And then it pinches.

He bites his lip and looks down between them for a moment. His hand reaches back and brings one of her legs around his hip.

He sinks in further and she feels as though something is tearing her in two. Something is. She’s being cloven in two by his cock.

She gasps at the pain. He raises his head, looks into her eyes and moves no further.

“Does it hurt terribly, Alayne?”

 _Alayne_.

It rolls off his tongue easily enough. And yet, never has it sounded so jarring to her ears.

“Sansa,” she says softly, as a tear slides down her cheek. “Call me…”

“Sansa,” he says at once with a dear sweet smile. Her heart feels full and she wants to weep with joy over how much she loves him. Perhaps she’ll weep tomorrow for what will never be. “Tonight, you are Sansa,” he says. He kisses away her tear so gently and her heartache is tripled by his tenderness. “Shall I stop? Shall I pull out?”

He is perfectly still inside of her. If he were any other man, she cannot imagine him doing anything but shoving his cock the rest of the way inside and doing what he pleases. But he does not. He would truly stop if she asked him to.

However, while Sansa was deciding that she wished to be Sansa after all and Jon was offering to stop in the middle of taking her maidenhead, the pain has receded.

“Don’t stop, Jon,” she says.

His smile becomes wider. Jon Snow’s smile that would rival the rising sun.

He kisses her once and then pushes the rest of the way in. It’s large, his cock. It fills her. It’s warm down there where their bodies are joined. She can feel the wiry hair that surrounds his manhood brushing against her soft inner thighs.

“Alright?” he asks with a barely contained grimace.

“It’s big. At first, I didn’t think all of you could fit,” she says. He starts to chuckle and she can feel it all through her body. “Are you alright?” she asks as his brow furrows.

“You’re…gods, you’re so tight, Sansa. I…I told myself I wouldn’t spill inside of you but now I’m…I’m afraid.”

 _You’ll father no children_ , she thinks, recalling his vows. It makes her inexplicably sad in that moment.

But she is…or was…a maid and in her innocence she asks, “Is this all there is to it? When do you spill?”

He laughs then, a fuller, more powerful laugh than his earlier chuckle and Sansa’s eyes roll back at the sensation, the thrumming vibration that causes her to clench around him.

“We move together, sweet one,” he says with a sigh before nipping at her bottom lip playfully. “The movement is pleasing and then the man spills after a while.”

“Then, why don’t you move?”

“I was waiting for you to be ready. I’ve never been with a maiden. I’ve only been with one other girl and she was no maid. I was worried about hurting you.”

“I think the hurt has mostly passed,” she says. It’s true. There’s a slight pressure and ache that hasn’t gone away completely but she is no longer in pain. “Move, Jon,” she urges.

He thrusts his hips once, moving his cock slowly along her inner walls. He nearly leaves her, only to dive in deeply once more. They moan in unison. It feels good to her though perhaps not as good as it feels to him. His eyes search hers and she nods to let him know that she does not wish for him to stop. He thrusts again…and again.

Sansa spreads herself wider beneath him with one leg still hitched around his waist. Jon finds a rhythm to his thrusts. The ache and pressure are still there but now they are overshadowed by a new sort of throbbing. Every time his cock is fully sheathed, she mewls into his shoulder. His chest brushes her nipples and she thinks how lovely it would be to combine the sensation of his thrusting hips with the feel of his mouth on her breasts. She arches her back and he takes the hint.

“Oh, gods,” she cries as she feels his tongue and lips teasing her nipples all while his cock slips back and forth inside her wet cunny.

There is a wet, slapping sound when he picks up his pace and his thrusts become more forceful. Sansa Stark might’ve found the sound quite shameful at one time and Naughty Alayne might’ve giggled over it. And now…it only fans her desire knowing it is the sound of their bodies joined as they make love.

His mouth pulls off her nipple with a plop as a low, long moan builds in her throat. She is building towards a peak. His grey eyes are now more like obsidian as he watches her face. He ravages her mouth with a possessive kiss again. He pants and grunts and pounds into her cunny that throbs and aches and seeks that release that she’s certain he can give her.

Jon slides a hand between them and brushes her little bud. _A gift from the gods_ , he’d told her once. _For your pleasure and my own_.

“Jon!” she says desperately. She’s so close. She’s almost there.

“I know, love,” he mutters but his hips are losing their rhythm and there is a touch of fear in his eyes. “Fuck,” he cries and she knows he’s close, too. “Sansa… _unnn_ …I’m about to…”

She instinctively wraps both legs around his waist now. If he leaves her now, she’ll never peak. But if he peaks inside of her…

But then she does peak. Oh, gods, she does. And then, she truly does weep with joy. That throbbing ache between her legs is fulfilled at last, even more so than when he’s used his hands or mouth on her.

Her cunny flutters and pulses around him. She is still enjoying the after waves of pleasure when he pulls out quickly and far sooner than she’d have liked. But when he shouts her name and the hot, sticky seed falls across her belly and thighs, she decides she does not mind it. Not this time at least.

He rises and she hears him pouring water into his basin. He returns to the bed with a cloth and washes her clean. Her maiden’s blood and his seed cover the cloth. Sansa Stark is a maiden no longer…and neither is that girl Alayne that she likes to pretend to be sometimes.

She rises and uses the chamber pot and there’s a touch of blood. She is sore now as she moves gingerly across the room but it is a trifling compared to a thousand other pains she could name. Jon is there though, offering whatever support he can.

They pull on their night clothes in silence and Jon blows out the last candle before he climbs into his bed next to her. She is glad to sleep in his bed tonight. She feels his arms wrap around her and he kisses the back of her neck. Tomorrow, things might be different for them both. Or tomorrow, they might continue on as though nothing has happened. Tonight, she does not wish to dwell upon it for long.

“So, are you my Sansa always now?” he asks.

“I am. I always was...but I am also your Alayne.” He snorts and asks what that means. “When I am feeling wicked and naughty, I like being your Alayne. But when I just want to be loved, I like being Sansa. Is that so terrible?”

“No, love. Not at all,” he says.


End file.
